Page 63 of Calling the Shots

Still, I take a slow breath, a little reminder not to get ahead of myself. I should stay grounded, realistic. Remember I’m not the star of a real-life rom-com, ready to be swept away in a glittery carriage by Prince Charming.

But damn, that’s hard to do sitting next to Mack. He looks every bit the part of my prince and I’ve never felt more like Cinderella in my life.

Hopefully I don’t lose my strappy heel when the clock strikes midnight. I really love these shoes.

“Here we are. Let’s do this.” Mack parks in the school parking lot and the two of us make our way toward the cafeteria.

Music blares from speakers set up on the stage and the room’s dim, the usual bright fluorescent lights replaced by strobing spotlights aimed at the makeshift dance floor. A clump of brave high schoolers moves as one in the center of the floor, while a few chaperones stand off to the side chatting.

“There’s Carter.” Mack points to the refreshment table.

Sure enough, Sloane’s dad’s standing guard next to the punch bowl, a hand shoved deep in his suit pocket. A couple female teachers hover nearby, but no one’s boldly hitting on him. Not yet, anyway.

Mack and I circumvent the dance floor and join Coach Carter at the refreshment table.

“Y’all want some punch?” Coach Carter waves a hand at the giant plastic bowl of red liquid.

“I’m gonna pass. Thanks, though.” Mack plucks two mini bottles of water from the table, handing one to me. “It’s louder in here than Mustang’s.”

“What?” Coach Carter shouts and I giggle.

“Exactly my point.” Mack unscrews the lid of the water and takes a long chug. “How long does this thing go again?”

“Only until ten. You’ll be home before your bedtime, don’t worry.” Coach Carter folds his arms over his chest, surveying the dance floor.

“Isn’t that the quarterback, Langley? And his mom? We sat with her at the game.” I point to the two of them standing on the opposite side of the dance floor.

“Yes, that’s them.” Coach Carter tips his head at the pair, both waving shyly in our direction.

“Langley brought his mom to the dance?” I scrunch up my nose at the concept. Even I wasn’t that hard up for a date back in high school.

“No, she works here. In the front office. I’m sure she got roped into chaperoning too. Langley doesn’t seem too happy about it either.”

“Definitely not.” I take a sip of water as Langley takes a huge step away from his mother, creating a wide berth. Meg tucks her hair behind her ear and glances around the room nervously. I take a chance and wave her over.

“Hey, Meg. Love your dress.” I motion at her sparkly silver minidress. A bold statement for a mom of a teenager, but she looks great.

“Thanks. Langley wasn’t a lot of help in the dress department.” Her cheeks flush bright pink, noticeable even in the dark room.

“Boys, am I right?”

She laughs at that, her shoulders loosening a touch. I notice her sneak a sideways glance at Coach Carter and I remember what Sloane said about women being feral for her dad.

Meg Langley isn’t exactly feral, but she’s definitely interested.

“Excuse me, but we could use a volunteer or two over by the photo booth.” An older woman with a tight gray bun taps Mack on the arm. “Would you mind?”

He shrugs. “No problem. See y’all.”

Mack slides his hand around my waist and we walk over to the massive balloon arch. A photographer’s snapping pics, the flash popping every few seconds. We monitor the line, making sure no one gets rowdy or flips off the camera.

Eventually, there’s a lull in the action. The photographer lowers his camera, taking a quick breather.

“You two want a photo?” He eyes us, waving us over to the arch.

“I’d love one, thanks!” Grabbing Mack by the hand, I drag him into the center of the display as the photographer lifts the camera.

“That’s nice.” The flash pops once, twice. “Now, get closer. That’s good. The gentleman needs to stand behind the lady, right. Like that. Wrap your arms around her waist and she leans back against you. Good.”

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